There is an inner narration that never ends within the average man’s mind. He mistakes this rampant hamster-like invention, more often than not, to be he himself. It jogs to a daily rhythm that responds, first, to the quality and quantity of impressions he receives from the world around him, and two, by the inordinate digestion of excitable chemicals that are infested in his food and drink. It has become a twisted circle of teeth to tail, where the snake eats away at itself until the fateful day that time stands still. There is always a stream of something, either tidbits of old thoughts being re-chewed, or mixtures of a wild imagination gone airily amok.

Sanity begins with a pause. It continues with a silence. Then a moment of boredom is faced squarely and a man loses both the interest and the strength to bear a single minute more of holding this feisty beast at bay. It is this particular fact that man loves to forget: that he is not one personality, but many fragmented chunks of different “I like” and “I don’t like” crammed tightly together. For you see, Humpty Dumpty fell to the cobblestone floor and broke into many jagged pieces quite some time ago, and we have never been quite the same since. Only the rarest bird amongst us carries the sublime intent and the inner fortitude to take on this unreality and forge it into a light-hearted sanity.